Tainted
by Blaze6
Summary: Grissom's got a problem on his hands. Make that three.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Tainted  
  
Author: Ooh, two! Devanie Maxwell and Blaze (last name not important)  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Category: SRA  
  
Spoilers: You think we'd spoil you right before the season starts? Ha.  
  
Disclaimer: Anything copyrighted isn't ours.  
  
Summary: Grissom's got a problem on his hands. Make that three.  
  
Authors' notes-- We decided to brave the collaboration waters with this idea, based on the concept of "If Grissom couldn't be boss and Catherine was unable, who will fill the void?" We talk all the time via IM, so that's how this little tale was created. One. Line. At. A. Time. We'd volley back and forth, trying to write each other into the biggest block possible. Good times. We hope you enjoy our little foray into improv fic, as it was a lot of fun to write. In that angsty kind of way.   
  
  
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"How did you deal with her?"  
  
Grissom stood at the small island, wine bottle in hand. "Catherine?"   
  
Sara fixed him with a pointed glare and resumed her hypnotic pacing. "No, Grissom. The Easter Bunny. Of course Catherine."  
  
"What's the problem?"  
  
"It's just...constant. Pick, pick, pick. Did I sign this, did I submit for that, did I remember her time off request...If she's not double checking my work, she's undermining my decisions. I don't even think it's intentional. She just can't not be in charge."  
  
"Sounds like Catherine," he commented, his tone neutral as he carefully removed the cork from the green neck of a 1999 Coyote Creek Merlot.  
  
"Today, for example," Sara continued, "She...God! I don't...I was so annoyed."  
  
"Only annoyed?" Amused. She didn't like amused.  
  
"Don't patronize me, Grissom."  
  
He lifted his hands in a defensive gesture and fixed her with an innocent look. "I'm not." He paused and turned serious. "You could still turn the job down."  
  
"According to HR it's me or Nick."  
  
"Right." Grissom handed her a glass of wine, which she took almost absently.  
  
She sighed. "This is all your fault." A small sip of the crimson beverage escaped down her throat.  
  
"My fault?"  
  
"You made it look too easy."  
  
"Sara, it's never easy to lead a group as diverse as ours."  
  
"I know that. I do." She looked into the glass for a minute. "I just didn't realize there were so many egos involved."  
  
Turning his head slightly, Grissom attempted to hide the slight smile her comment brought to his lips. "Yeah, you'd be surprised."  
  
"Shut up." She tried for indignance, but failed.  
  
He shrugged.  
  
Continuing to pace, she spoke again.  
  
"Can you talk to her?"  
  
"That's a surprise."  
  
"What?" Sara asked, not understanding.  
  
"You never let anyone else fight your battles."  
  
She spun toward him so fast wine spilled over the lip of the glass, forming a red puddle that very much resembled blood.  
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
He grimaced at the stain seeping into the beige throw rug he'd just bought. "You spilled." Grissom gestured at the discoloration.  
  
"Damn it, Grissom. I'm not letting you fight my battles. I'm just asking you to talk to her." She paused as his eyes wandered from hers to the rug again. "And I'm up here."  
  
"Huh?" He did his best to look puzzled.  
  
"The stain can wait, Grissom. It's not angry. I am."  
  
"Sara, you won't be angry forever. That stain will never go away."  
  
Sighing, she brushed past him into the small kitchen and grabbed a wet sponge. He reached out and grabbed her elbow, running his hand down her arm. He pried the sponge from her fingers. "I'll take care of this. I'd hate to stop your momentum." She hadn't stopped pacing since her arrival.  
  
His glib comment was met with a glare, which he promptly ignored. "I need the 409, if the cabinet under the sink is in your flight plan," Grissom added. "This isn't going to come out with just water."  
  
Silently, she put down her glass, exhaled sharply and reached into the cabinet. Sara handed him the cleaner without a word, meeting his eyes for a long, charged moment.  
  
"Thank you." Grissom frowned as the stain turned lighter but did not disappear. "This isn't going to come out."  
  
"It's fresh!" Sara protested. "It has to come out."  
  
"It doesn't seem to think so," Grissom replied, standing. "It's stubborn."  
  
She ignored the potential double meaning there. "Sorry."  
  
Looking up, he saw that she was biting her lip to keep laughter at bay. "You don't look very apologetic."  
  
"I am. Really."  
  
The tint of the rug now a light pink, Grissom stood and tossed the sponge over the counter into the sink. "I'll try and get the rest tomorrow." Hovering a hand behind her back, he guided her over to the couch.  
  
She glanced through the blinds first, at the glaring Las Vegas morning, then at the finger-like cactus on the end table. His butterfly specimens got a look as well, before she turned to him and sighed, a plaintive look settling on her face. "I hate people, Grissom."  
  
"I know."  
  
An unusually pitiful look settled on her face. "I really hate people," Sara mumbled, looking to the wine glass for support.  
  
Grissom studied her profile for a moment before taking the glass from her hands, putting it on the coffee table in front of them.  
  
"You don't hate me, do you?"  
  
Her dark chocolate eyes rocketed from the glass to the deep blue of his. "No, of course not," she replied, somewhat surprised by his question. "But you're not people. You're...Grissom."  
  
"What does that mean?" He decided to take it a step farther.  
  
"I haven't known 'people' for six years. I don't consider 'people' my boss. I don't sleep with 'people.' So, yeah, you're Grissom."  
  
"I'm not your supervisor anymore."  
  
"Not right now. You will be again."  
  
He shot her a half-grin. "Oh, I don't know about that...I'm liking this medical leave...No corpses, no blood, no unidentifiable evidence...No Greg."  
  
"You know you love him." She grinned.  
  
"Not to mention the perks," Grissom continued. "I can sleep in..."  
  
"Unlikely, knowing me," she commented. "Go on."  
  
"Watch TV...Sleep with the boss."  
  
"Right. It's only temporary, Grissom. You'll be back."  
  
"Word has it you're doing such a good job I might not have that option," he said without a trace of bitterness.  
  
Sara shook her head vigorously. "I'd quit first. I'm about to quit now, actually. It's your job. I only filled in because I was afraid that bastard Ecklie would appoint someone himself."  
  
"Ecklie can't appoint people to night shift. It's not his responsibility."  
  
"Not according to Ecklie," she grumbled. "He's almost as bad as Catherine." The last of her wine disappeared, the glass left with a light but undrinkable coating.  
  
"He doesn't have any authority over you."  
  
Meeting his eyes again, she spoke tentatively. "He's less concerned with how I do my job than why I got it."  
  
Comprehension flickered across Grissom's features. "Ah."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well, that's a completely unfounded insinuation. What did you say?"  
  
"I kind of told him to go to hell."  
  
He couldn't help but smirk. "At least you have the 'he's not your boss' thing down."  
  
"I guess." Sara glanced at the empty glass. "You have anything stronger?"  
  
"You're not getting drunk on my watch, Sara."  
  
She had the nerve to look shocked at his reply. "I...You..."  
  
"I don't want you passed out in my bed. Or on my couch. I don't like you when you're hung over."  
  
"You've never seen me hung over."  
  
"Don't really want to." They sat in silence for a moment, then Grissom smiled. "You really told Ecklie to go to hell?"  
  
"I did." She had moved closer to him on the cushion now.  
  
"That probably wasn't the wisest career move."  
  
She gestured in dismissal. "Neither was his telling me that it wasn't my years of experience or solve rate that landed me the position, but the fact I was 'having inappropriate relations with my former supervisor.'"  
  
Nodding in agreement, he traced a hand above her knee. "How does he even know?"  
  
"I have no idea. It's not like we told anyone." Sara watched his face grow blank, evasive, his eyes focused on anything but her. "You didn't."  
  
"She asked me! What was I supposed to do, deny it?"  
  
"You told Catherine? Oh, God...Grissom..." She hung her head and whined, "That's why she's been acting so...weird...towards me."  
  
"Weird. Wonderfully descriptive."  
  
"Shut up, Mr. I-Can't-Keep-A-Damn-Secret. Damn it!" She glanced at him through a curtain of silky hair. "You know she can't keep her mouth shut."  
  
He at least had the sense to look chagrined. "She would have been the first to find out and I'd rather it be on our terms."  
  
"'Our'? You mean your? You should have just announced it on the intercom. It would have saved Catherine the trouble of telling everyone herself."  
  
She closed her eyes for the briefest instant, then tilted her head towards him. "Thanks a lot, Grissom. Thank you so very much for quite possibly ruining my career." Grissom reeled back from the fire in her eyes and voice; the full force of Sara fury had never been directed at him before, he wasn't quite sure what to do.  
  
She moved away from him, settling her tense frame against the opposite arm of the couch. "My job means everything to me, Grissom. I thought you'd have better sense than that."  
  
"Sara..." She glanced at him, the anger mixing with an eerie sadness. "I'm sorry. She asked, I didn't want to pretend like nothing happened. Like this wasn't real. I couldn't..."  
  
"You could have told me that you'd told her."  
  
"I'm sorry." And he was. He had seen Catherine as the lesser of three evils at the time. Chancing a look at Sara, he saw she had returned her stare to her knees. Clasping his hands behind her calves, he pulled her closer until her straight legs crossed his bent ones and he could feel her breath on his face.  
  
"I hate it when you do that to me," she grumbled, but she knew and he knew her heart wasn't in it. "I'm not a lap dog. I'm not your lap dog."  
  
"Then consider me a chair," he whispered. "An object. Just another piece of furniture."  
  
"You talk too much to be a chair," she replied, voice lowering as her eyes wandered from his lips to his eyes and back.  
  
A sudden knock echoed through the electric storm brewing in the apartment. "Grissom?" Another knock. "Gil?"  
  
Sara pushed away from Grissom, exhaling with disgust. She rose from the couch, jaw clenching at the persistant voice coming from the other side of the door. "Better answer it, Grissom," she muttered bitterly. "The intercom's beeping."  
  
"Sara..."  
  
"I'll be in the bathroom. Don't want to give her anything more to talk about." She stalked off.  
  
He turned his head from Sara's retreating back to his front door, briefly wondering if he shouldn't just follow Sara.  
  
"Grissom! I know you're in there."  
  
So much for that.  
  
"Catherine." He greeted her back as she brushed past him into the living room. She sat on the couch heavily and threw her head back into the cushion with a dramatic sigh. "What a night."  
  
"Oh, really?" He could nearly hear Sara fuming, realized a second too late that he'd opened a door for Catherine.  
  
"First, Ed gives me a load of crap about why he missed Lindsey's birthday. Then he drops a bomb: He wants to take her to Disneyland to make up for it. I told him there's no way, not unless I'm going with them."  
  
"Sounds like Eddie," Grissom said, trying to sound as uninterested as possible.  
  
"Oh, it gets better. I put in a request for time off. Sara refused to sign it."  
  
Great. Two pissed off women. "I seriously doubt she refused."  
  
"You're just saying that because you're sleeping with her, Grissom."  
  
"No, I'm saying it because she's obviously stressed out as it is, and you're not making it any easier for her for by all reports."  
  
"'All reports?'"  
  
"The job's not easy, Catherine."  
  
"I never said it was." She eyed the two wine glasses on the table. "Engaging in heavy drinking or did I interrupt something?"  
  
"I had a guest."  
  
Rolling her eyes, she stood. "I'm going to use the restroom. Don't think this conversation's over."  
  
"Cath, I--" What was the point? He wasn't going to come out a winner in this. He sighed, settled into the couch and waited for the shit to hit the fan.  
  
He didn't have to wait long, unfortunately, as Catherine was surprised by the tall brunette emerging from his bathroom, a resigned look on her face.  
  
"Sara!"  
  
"Hey, Catherine," the younger woman said, her cheerfulness clearly faked. She'd never been able to hide hostility well, and a deaf dog would've heard it in her next statement. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I could say the same to you," Catherine replied. "I'm..."  
  
"...Not here to see me. I'll leave." Sara picked up her bag from the floor near the couch and headed for the door. She stopped as Grissom put an arm around her waist and pulled her back to the sofa. Sitting reluctantly, she was surprised when he didn't slide his arm out from behind her. The warmth of his fingers seeped through the thin material covering her ribs.  
  
"Catherine, have a seat." Grissom nodded at the chair that sat caddy corner to them.  
  
"Grissom..." Sara glanced over her shoulder at the entomologist, who merely gave her a small smile and a look that very clearly said 'I know what I'm doing.'  
  
He addressed her first. "Sara, you had to deny her days-off request, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Nick doesn't work Tuesdays as it is and Mobley requisitioned for your replacement late. It would just be me, Warrick, and all of Las Vegas' dead."  
  
The other woman spoke. "Nick would switch. He always does."  
  
"Then you need to tell me that. It's not my responsibility to make your arrangements."  
  
Hearing the edge returning to Sara's voice, Grissom interrupted, his tone diplomatic. "It IS a hard job. Catherine's just trying to help you be the best leader you can."  
  
Frowning, she looked at the older woman across from her, gauging her reaction. To her credit, she was completely unreadable.  
  
Grissom surreptitiously raised an eyebrow. "Yes!" Catherine exclaimed, as if he'd kicked her. "I am. I did it to Grissom, I just thought I'd extend the favor."  
  
"Right, that's a favor," Sara mumbled. Grissom's grip on her ribs tightened. "What?"  
  
Ignoring her question, he focused her attention back on Catherine. "This is Sara's first time heading a team. I know there are...circumstances...that led to her being appointed head of the unit." He wasn't going to go into why Catherine had been made ineligible for the position; it was a sensitive subject involving a case and a break in chain of custody. Bad timing, at best.  
  
"But I need you to make it clear that it had nothing, and I mean nothing, to do with our relationship. We didn't even have a relationship at that point."  
  
"I never said anything---!"  
  
"We're in a what?"  
  
"Relationship?" he repeated slowly, confused. "What did you think..."  
  
"A relationship. It was just...novel...hearing it come from you."  
  
"Guys." Catherine interrupted the scene in front of her before became too saccharine. "I never thought for a moment that Sara got the job for any other reason than that she was in the right position for it."  
  
"Could've fooled me," Sara muttered under her breath.  
  
"What?" Catherine stared at her, knowing exactly what she said.  
  
"Nothing." Her response was partly concession and partly a result of Grissom's increasing pressure on her side.  
  
"No, I want to know."  
  
Grissom winced, thought about telling the blonde that no, she didn't really want to know, and that maybe she shouldn't be provoking the younger CSI right then.  
  
"It's nothing, really," Sara said. "It's just..."  
  
Her response was overshadowed by the soft ring of Catherine's cell. Relieved that she didn't have to elaborate, but frustrated that she hadn't gotten what she had wanted to say out, Sara leaned into Grissom's shoulder and watched as Catherine stood to take the call on the other side of the room.  
  
"Sara, would you mind playing nice for ten minutes?" Grissom teased as soon as Catherine had answered the phone, the whisper ruffling her hair.  
  
One eyebrow climbed. "I've been nice."  
  
"You've been...testy." He gave her a slight smile.  
  
The exclaimation of "You're not serious?" cut both Sara's reply and their eye contact, as two heads swiveled towards Catherine's voice.  
  
"With all due respect, you can't put me in that situation. There's a conflict there." Her voice was diplomatic, as if she was willing the person on the other end to see the impracticality of whatever she was being asked to do. That which was still unclear to the two people sitting in rapt attention only feet away.  
  
Catherine exhaled, exasperated, as she listened to her caller's response. "No, I've been assured...Yes. I'm aware of that, but--" She sighed, closed her eyes. "Fine. Thank you." She stabbed the END button and put the phone away with a "Damn it!"  
  
Sara and Grissom exchanged puzzled glances, matching eyebrows raised. "What was that about?" he asked.  
  
"That was Mobley. We..." She considered her next words. "You have a problem."  
  
Oh, God. "What?" Sara already knew the answer; her question was almost rhetorical.  
  
"Apparently the department is aware of this." Gesturing at them, she continued. "He wants to talk to you both tomorrow. Seperately."  
  
Grissom looked flummoxed. "How? We didn't tell anyone."  
  
If looks could kill..."I didn't tell anyone."  
  
"Ecklie knows," Sara said quietly, drawing Grissom's attention away from Catherine. "I don't know how he found out, and I don't really care right now, but that's how the department knows."  
  
She felt like she'd fallen a hundred feet into the icy January waters of a reservoir outside of Boston, a jump she'd taken her sophomore year in college. The shuddering, to-the-core cold washed over her now as she began to realize what was bound to happen.  
  
Everything I've worked for, everything I've gained, she thought. And it's all going to be gone. Like lightning.  
  
She barely heard Grissom as he asked the question to which they both dreaded the answer. "Why did he call you?"  
  
Silence was the only response and the only response needed.  
  
"You're the contigency plan."  
  
Catherine ignored Sara's tone, knowing how it must be on the other side of this situation. "My probation has been lifted."  
  
Sara inhaled deep, head bowed as she exhaled. The brunette looked up at Catherine with a small, tense smile and said, "Congratulations, Catherine."  
  
She rose from the couch, taking deep, shaky breaths as she wandered away from the living room, arms crossed against the news. Grissom watched her retreating form for what seemed like an eternity, until she disappeared into his bedroom and closed the door.  
  
His gaze turned to the floor, to the stained rug, then finally to Catherine's eyes. "Maybe you should go."  
  
"Gil..."  
  
"Did you know about this coming in?"  
  
She gave a helpless shrug. "I didn't know Sara was here. I wanted to talk to you alone before breaking it to her."  
  
His gaze returned to the bedroom door. "How does Ecklie know?" He fought hard to keep an accusation out of his voice, but failed.  
  
"You know me better than that."  
  
"You're the only one I've told. Sara hasn't mentioned us to anyone. Evidence never lies, Catherine."  
  
"I didn't tell anyone! I promise you, Grissom. I didn't tell anyone." She glanced at the closed door, sighed. "Sara's been...more alive recently. Her attitude is what prompted me to ask you, because I knew she wouldn't tell me anything. Maybe...Maybe Ecklie came to the same conclusion I did."  
  
He frowned. "She hasn't changed."  
  
"You're not seeing her through the same filter we are, Gil. She's changed."  
  
Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled. "Regardless, I need to go talk to her about this. She wasn't having a good night before you got here." He didn't have to add why.  
  
"I know. Tell her I'm sorry."  
  
Shrugging, Grissom started down the hall. "I will. Thank you. Can you lock the door on your way out?"  
  
"Yeah." Catherine was almost out when she heard her friend call out.  
  
"Tell Mobley I'll be in early tomorrow. I want to talk to him first."  
  
"I'll make sure he can't censure Sara once I'm in charge."  
  
"I'm hoping it won't get that far. Sara's doing a good job. She's earned this."  
  
"Yeah," Catherine conceded. "Grissom?"  
  
He turned, the question in his eyes even as his face showed its pull towards the brunette in his bedroom.  
  
"Don't screw this up." Taken aback didn't begin to describe his expression. "I mean, don't say anything characteristically Grissom to her. Be careful...the last thing you want right now is to piss her off."  
  
"Well, I think whatever I could do to 'piss her off' pales in comparison to your perceived transgressions tonight." He almost looked glib.  
  
Catherine blinked. That was very uncharacteristically Grissom. "I'm going. Really, tell Sara it will be okay."  
  
Staring at her a moment longer, he realized that there was a selfish part of Catherine who wanted the job. He also knew there was an equal part of her that was horrified by that feeling. It was human nature.  
  
"Okay."  
  
With a final nod, she left.  
  
Grissom steeled himself before twisting the doorknob, opening the door as slowly as possible. The object of his concern sat on the bed with her back to the door, hugging one leg to her chest, her chin resting on her knee.  
  
"Hey." She tilted her head slightly in response, her lips quirking in a brief, reluctant smile. "You okay?"  
  
"No." The admission surprised him, almost more than anything that had happened in the last hour.  
  
"Anything I can do?"  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
Sitting on the bed next to her, he rested a hand on each of her shoulders. "Sara, I know that things seem bad right now, but I'm going to get this straightened out tomorrow. This could be just Mobley testing the waters. How do we know he knows?"  
  
"Well, something tipped him off."  
  
"Have you changed?"  
  
She wheeled around at him, her knees touching his thigh now. "What?"  
  
"Catherine said you had. That maybe someone picked up an attitude change."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself." She gave him a weak grin. "And you can't quantify 'an attitude change.'"  
  
He nodded. "That's exactly what I hope to convince Mobley of tomorrow." He moved to the bathroom now. Sara heard the water running as he started to brush his teeth, "Grissom?"  
  
He walked back into the room and raised his eyebrows.  
  
"What happens if things don't...work out?"  
  
He stood in silence for several long moments; she could feel the tension radiating off of him from ten feet away. Speaking softly, he locked his gaze at the floor. "Then there's one question you need to ask yourself."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"You said your job means everything to you. Are you willing to give that up for this?" 


	2. Chapter Two

Continued from Chapter One  
  
Headers, disclaimers in chapter one.  
  
AUTHORS' NOTES: The IM adventures continue! What started as a short vignette now has a life of its own. Heh. Hope you enjoy!  
  
  
------------------------------  
  
The first seismic event Nevada had seen since the cease of above-ground nuclear testing was rumbling through apartment 35 B. Nothing major, just enough to make the mattress roll under her and the slight noise of doors rattling in their frames.  
  
A 2.0, she thought through the film of sleep coating her mind. Not even enough to do any damage.  
  
"Sara?" Not an earthquake. Just Grissom moving around the apartment.  
  
Well, I'm not in San Francisco anymore, she thought as she groaned a response, turning away from his voice and the light, pulling the top sheet over her aching head.  
  
The respite was only temporary as the covering was pulled back, causing her to squint painfully at Grissom's blurred form. "What?"  
  
"It's 3:30."  
  
"No, it's not," she mumbled to the pillow.  
  
Grissom spoke louder, his voice managing to reverberate in her head. "It's 3:30 and you're hung over."  
  
"Only had some wine," she insisted. "One glass. Coyote Creek. I spilled it on your new rug."  
  
"You're hung over," he repeated.  
  
She tried glaring at him, but it came out as a bleary-eyed squinty grimace, so she moaned and flopped back on her stomach. "I don't like you anymore, go 'way."  
  
"It's my apartment," Grissom replied. "I can't."  
  
"Go away, Grissom."  
  
Shrugging in response, he reached for the wrist that dangled over the edge of the mattress and tugged until she was forced to sit up, rather than tumbling unceremoniously to the floor. The air was cold against her bare shoulders; the thin tank she wore wasn't enough in the near arctic temperature of Grissom's apartment, Focusing for the first time, she saw Grissom was already dressed.  
  
"Leaving already?" As soon as the words left her mouth she remembered the events of the previous night. "Right."  
  
"I told Mobley I'd meet him at 4:30. You can show up at the normal time."  
  
"Okay. And I got up now because?"  
  
"I thought we could eat."  
  
Sara shook her head, instantly regretting it as a wave of dizziness washed over her. "All I want is an Advil and more sleep."  
  
"Food's good for you." He looked at her for a moment. "We need to talk."  
  
Four words never sounded so...disgusting. "I'm really not up for talking, Gris."  
  
"We need to plan."  
  
Nodding, she stood slowly and dug through her overnight bag, deeming the black pair of pants she found at the bottom work appropriate. "So, what's for breakfast?"  
  
"I put some waffles in the toaster for you. I figured eggs wouldn't be the best choice."  
  
She gave him a genuine smile. "The mere thought makes me want to hurl." It was more from nerves than her mild hangover.  
  
"I figured." He walked out of the room ahead of her, only to turn around and pull her into a deep, albeit brief kiss. Stepping back, he gave her an odd look. "You taste like alcohol."  
  
"No shit, Sherlock." Oh, right. Grouchy when tired and nervous. "Not all of us can be minty fresh at all times."  
  
Coffee. Must find her coffee. Right now.  
  
"I started the coffee," he said weakly. "It's that Fog Lifter stuff you ordered from San Francisco."  
  
"Knew there was a reason I'm keeping you around," she replied with a small, grateful smile.  
  
He continued to the kitchen as Sara pulled out a stool at the counter. Grabbing the orange juice, she had nearly finished the glass she'd poured by the time Grissom slid a pair of blueberry waffles onto her plate. "Thanks." She watched him take a seat in front of his own meal before continuing. "Do you know what you're going to say to Mobley?" She blurted, the reality of the situation finally setting in.  
  
His hand paused on a waffle. "I...I have an idea. But you aren't going to like it."  
  
"What?" she asked, anxiety on her features and in her voice.  
  
Grissom's jaw worked as he thought about how to explain something he knew she'd hate. How have I done this before? he thought. When I had to tell her suspects were being let go, what the hell did I do?  
  
"I don't think we should see each other anymore," he blurted. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.  
  
She stared at him for a long speechless moment. "Excuse me?"  
  
"No, no, no, Sara. That's not what I meant." His hurried response did nothing to ease the dumbfounded look on her face. "It's my plan."  
  
"What the hell kind of plan is that?" she questioned, slightly angry and a lot confused.  
  
A plan that sounded a lot better five minutes ago. He reached across the counter, grabbed her hand, and was relieved when she didn't withdraw it.  
  
"You're touching me." She glanced at his hand with suspicion.  
  
"Sara...It's a smokescreen."  
  
"You're touching me."  
  
Grissom sighed. Difficult, thy name is Sara Sidle. "The plan is that we pretend there is no us, and this--" he gestured between them with his free hand "--is an unfounded allegation. They can't censure us over something that's not there."  
  
"You want to lie?" He had to be kidding, Grissom was one of the most honest men she had ever met. Either that or she was still sleeping.  
  
"If it means saving your job and keeping what we have, then yes."  
  
She eyed him skeptically. "I don't know if I like this."  
  
"Mobley..."  
  
"It has nothing to do with Mobley. I just hate having to live a lie."  
  
Grissom regarded her carefully. He knew the feeling. "This is only until we find another way. There's no reason to sacrifice your career when there is another option."  
  
"What happens if they find out? I mean, how do we continue to do this? I don't want to be looking over my shoulder all the time."  
  
"Well, we do have a lot of hotels to choose from."  
  
"No, Grissom. Hotels are...disgusting. And there's hardly one on the Strip that isn't a crime scene in my mind. I'd be distracted. 'Oh, that's where I found the carving knife.' No hotels."  
  
"Well, the crime scene thing eliminates most of Las Vegas." He thought for a moment. "We can always continue the way we have."  
  
"Only I go home, sleep alone..." Sara didn't like the idea. Didn't like any part of it. "This is stupid, Grissom. We should just tell them."  
  
"No!" His vehemence startled her. "No. Because if you don't have a job...I'm not enough to keep you in Las Vegas."  
  
They stared at each other a few tense moments, his statement falling over them like a heavy blanket. Breaking eye contact, Sara picked at the edge of her waffle. "I love my job." She paused a moment. "I...can't not be with you. If it came down to it, I could go back to California and come here on the weekends." Even as she was saying the words she knew it wouldn't be enough.   
  
Grissom raised an eyebrow, lips quirking into an unfortunate grimace. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He began taking small bites of the now-cold waffle in front of him.  
  
"Grissom, don't act like that."  
  
"What am I acting like? It's true. You lose your job here and you're gone. Weekends aren't enough to sustain a relationship, Sara. You know that."  
  
"And what? You would stay if they fired you? I don't think so, Grissom."  
  
He was suddenly very tired, very uninterested in arguing. "I don't want to fight with you, Sara."  
  
Her hair fell forward into her face as she stared at the floor. "Me neither. There's something ironic about us fighting over this."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So, no sleeping over? We just...deal...until this gets resolved?" She was at a loss.  
  
"We'll deal." It was absurd, that they'd even have to deal with it. They'd never truly dealt with their relationship, never had an honest-to-God Talk about what they were doing, about the change. They'd each made blind assumptions, assumptions that, granted, had turned out to be valid, but he had to wonder now if the ease of their slipping into a relationship had left them unprepared for this.  
  
"Okay." She glanced at the clock hanging over the sink. 4:00. "You better go."  
  
"Yeah." Grissom got up, taking his plate and mostly uneaten waffle with him, putting the plate in the sink. He looked at the waffle, then chucked it into the trash.  
  
"Starving children, Grissom." Sara cringed, watching as the waffle landed gracefully in the waste basket.  
  
"If they ate that waffle, they'd get sick." He passed behind her on his way out, running a hand across her shoulders. "See you later."  
  
"Be good." She grinned. "Don't let the Mobley-Ecklie monster bite."  
  
"Too late, I'm afraid." He picked up his keys off the counter. "I love you, it's going to be fine."  
  
She sincerely doubted the latter.  
  
  
  
  
Brian Mobley's office was spartan; a desk, filing cabinet, and a bank of shelves served as the only furnishings. Diplomas adorned the walls, but nothing else to personalize the space to its occupant. Grissom had been waiting nearly twenty minutes and now felt familiar with every inch of the place. Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned to meet the tardy sheriff. "Brian."  
  
"Gil." He nodded to the chair to his left. "Have a seat."  
  
Grissom considered telling him he preferred to stand, but then remembered Catherine's near constant admonitions about being 'politic.' He sat.  
  
Wasting no time, Mobley got to the point. "I assume you already know why you're here."  
  
"I know the basics." Calm and cool, don't give him too much, don't jeopardize Sara's meeting, don't jeopardize Sara's career. "I'm not clear on my importance."  
  
"You chose Ms. Sidle for the acting supervisor position, is that correct?"  
  
"HR chose her." He sent the sheriff a cool gaze.  
  
"But you had the final decision, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And that decision was made solely on her merit?"  
  
"If you want to know if I made Sara acting supervisor because of inappropriate reasons, ask me, Brian."  
  
"Fine." Mobley met Grissom's eyes. "Are you sleeping with her?"  
  
"No." His first lie in a long time rolled off his tongue with ease.  
  
"Are you dating?"  
  
"No." That was the truth. They had never 'dated.' They shared as many meals before as they did now. The main difference was in where they shared them.  
  
"So, when someone saw you and Sidle leave together the night of the 12th..."  
  
"She was exhausted. I drove her home." That was easy.  
  
"...and the 17th?"  
  
Shit.  
  
"I..." Shit, shit, shit. "I don't remember."  
  
Mobley removed a sheet of paper from a file on his desk Grissom hadn't noticed. "See this?" he asked the wide-eyed criminalist. "We've started recording any incidences of employee impropriety, mostly incidences of reported sexual harassment."  
  
"I've seen the report form," Grissom replied. Oh, God, this wasn't happening.  
  
"This was filled out by an employee, who, as dictated by procedure, is going to remain anonymous. Want to know what this employee witnessed on the 17th at..." Mobley checked the paper, looked up at Grissom. "At 8:23 A.M.?"  
  
He just stared in response. There were already nails in the coffin. He wasn't going to hand Mobley the hammer.  
  
"The witness said you had your hands on her shoulders."  
  
Laughing in spite of himself, Grissom looked incredulous. "That's it? I touched her shoulder?"  
  
"According to the guidelines, that's more than enough to be construed as sexual harassment; when in conjunction with your unexplained 'drives' seems to point to impropriety."  
  
"I've known Sara for six years. We've established a very comfortable working relationship. It's certainly not harassment, nor does it have any bearing on the cases."  
  
Mobley put the paper down, shuffled through the file. "I'd be willing to accept that, Gil, if there weren't other items pointing to inappropriate conduct."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I'd rather not discuss that without Ms. Sidle present."  
  
"She won't be here for another 30 minutes."  
  
Mobley looked almost pleased just as the knock sounded on the door behind them. "Actually, she's here now."  
  
"You called her?" Grissom could only hope it was on her cell.  
  
"I paged her. Told her her presence was required early."  
  
They turned in unison as the door opened behind them and an apprehensive Sara entered.  
  
She dared a quick glance at Grissom before sitting in the one remaining chair. "You wanted to see me, sheriff?"  
  
His head bobbed. "Oh, yes, Ms. Sidle." Mobley turned to Grissom with a slight smile. "I think we can discuss the other evidence now."  
  
"Evidence? Of what?" Sara looked between the two men, Mobley purposefully enigmatic, Grissom purposefully avoiding her gaze. The sheriff soundlessly handed her the witness report, which she scanned quickly. "This is...completely invalid!"  
  
"You and he are not in a relationship?"  
  
She gave both men an incredulous look. "You've got to be kidding me. Grissom is my boss, my teacher. I would never...He would never..."  
  
"His hands were on your shoulders. Why?"  
  
"This is ridiculous, I'm not answering that."  
  
"Fine," Mobley said. "What about the phone call on the 21st?"  
  
"Phone call?" Grissom broke in. How much was there?  
  
"Apparently Ms. Sidle was overheard making plans to go to your home."  
  
Sara looked to Grissom for help. He took a shot. "How do you know she was calling me?"  
  
"There's a record of all incoming calls."  
  
"You can't possibly expect us to remember every conversation. She was probably bringing over a report. We're colleagues."  
  
Sara found her voice.   
  
"By making these accusations out of context you can only compromise our professional relationship."  
  
Nodding, Grissom continued her statement. "Our efficiency on cases speaks for itself."  
  
"If you have such a strong professional relationship, this shouldn't affect it, should it?" Neither had a response to this. "That's what I thought." Mobley, shuffling with the papers in the file, then asked, "Why Ms. Sidle, Gil? Why her over Nick Stokes, or any other member of your team?"  
  
"She was...is...the best choice for acting supervisor. Catherine Willows was the obvious choice, but at the time, she was under review. Warrick Brown has seniority but requested that I not choose him."  
  
"Which left your choice to Nick Stokes and Ms. Sidle. Why her over him? He has been with the department longer, he is certainly capable...Why your former student?"  
  
"Because I could trust her to handle the job the way I would."  
  
"Because you could direct her."  
  
A cry of "No!" jumped into the room from both criminalists.  
  
"That's completely unfounded!"  
  
"That's not fair!"  
  
Keeping his anger in check, Grissom lowered his voice. "Sara was my student. She's attended my seminars, I was her mentor in California...in all honesty I do trust her more. She knows how I operate, she's intuitive...it was an easy decision. Nick has seniority, but Sara has more solves. Nick simply isn't ready to head a unit; he only worked his first homicide solo late last year."  
  
Mobley seemed to consider his words for a moment. "Fair enough. You know the setup, Gil. Now, something doesn't quite add up here, but there's nothing definitive. I can't take action now, but if I so much as hear whispers about the two of you, we'll readdress this. Rest assured, if you get called back into this office, neither of you are coming out unscathed."  
  
"You sound like you want to find something."  
  
Mobley's silence was answer enough. "You can go, both of you," he said after a long terse moment.  
  
Sara was out the door before he'd finished his sentence.  
  
  
  
  
Grissom found her in the parking lot, trying to wear a ten foot groove into the tar of the loading area. She was cradling her right hand, shoulders tense with a deep frustration. This was not the Sara who'd brought him coffee two years ago in the same location, not the Sara who lost her taste for meat for him and Kaye Shelton right here. This was a whole new Sara, one he didn't know how to deal with.  
  
"Sara?"  
  
She turned sharply, like the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, eyes liquid and shining in the singular bright orange light glaring over them.  
  
"I...don't know what to say." Her anger was palpable, but she suddenly seemed to remember where they were and who could be listening. "Dammit."   
  
"What happened to your hand?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as conversational as possible.  
  
Taking his lead, she responded as if telling him about her latest spatter findings. "I slammed it into the door too hard. Maybe bruised a couple knuckles. It's fine."  
  
"Did you run into it, or did it run into you?"  
  
"I can work, Grissom." She looked like any insinuation otherwise would be like a slap in the face. "Speaking of, Mobley cancelled your leave, didn't he?"  
  
"That's one way to make sure we aren't 'being inappropriate'...keep me busy," he said, voice dropping below a whisper as he delivered "being inappropriate."  
  
"It's the easiest way to check up on us," she agreed.  
  
Grissom sighed. "We should probably go inside."  
  
"Yeah." Looking around and seeing no one, she spoke softly. "We should probably keep our distance around here, so when do I see you again?"  
  
Grissom almost laughed. This felt like a conversation after a first date, not three months of a physical relationship following six years of something just as personal. "I thought I might catch a movie tonight."  
  
She gave him a little smirk. "Anything good playing?"  
  
"I have no idea. 11:30, Cinedome in Henderson."  
  
"Henderson." She smiled. "You might enjoy One Hour Photo."  
  
"For seven dollars a ticket, I certainly hope so."  
  
"Eight dollars. And don't forget popcorn. I...you'll need a lot of that."  
  
"I better bring a fifty."  
  
Sara had never gone to the movies with Grissom; she'd never thought of him as the film-going type. "Yeah."  
  
Staring at each other a few moments, he finally moved back toward the door. "I'm not allowed in the field. What's my assignment?"  
  
This was surreal. "The Collins case was finally closed. Someone needs to go over the pre-trial evidentiary report."  
  
"Well...I'm your man, then." He grinned. "Oops, probably shouldn't have said that out loud. See you inside."  
  
Sara watched him totter off to the main entrance of the building, smiled at him when he turned around to steal a glance at her and bumped into a police car, chuckled softly when he was out of sight. Checked her watch, and smiled.  
  
Henderson. 11:30.  
  
She could handle that.   
  
  
TBC 


End file.
